


Stars Shining Bright Above You

by wordslinging



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is Mostly Human, Dorks in Love, Dream Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, No Tentacles, Post-Episode: e049 Old Oak Doors Part B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he wasn't touching the love of his life for the first time in weeks, Carlos would instantly be trying to remember what he's read about astral projection or shared dreaming, to figure out the science behind whatever's happening here. As it is, he makes a mental note to look into it later, but right now nothing seems worth taking his hands off of Cecil for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars Shining Bright Above You

**Author's Note:**

> Because this, apparently, is how I decided to soothe myself after the end of Old Oak Doors.

Carlos guesses he shouldn't be surprised that time in the otherworldly desert is even weirder than time in Night Vale. According to the clock and calendar on his phone, it's been a week since the doors all shut and left him stranded here, but in that same span the sun has risen and set ten times and the moon has waxed and waned completely.

Besides the sun and moon, there's that other light, that strange and terrible light on the horizon. It's weaker now, seeming almost at bay, though it still makes Carlos's insides squirm uncomfortably if he looks at it too long. It's odd, when he thinks about it--a light that illuminates everything, that makes everything so frightfully, mercilessly clear, should be a welcome thing for a scientist. But this isn't the kind of illumination he wants. Maybe he's just spent too long in Night Vale to want it.

They (Cecil, Dana, Kevin, the beings claiming to be angels) say that light is a smiling god. Carlos is a scientist; he doesn't know much about gods, smiling or otherwise. He didn't grow up in a very religious family, with the exception of his devoutly Catholic grandmother. In a way, with her hand-carved wooden rosary and room full of candles and holy cards dedicated to different saints, his grandmother was one of his biggest influences toward becoming a scientist. She was the one who taught him how powerful faith is, and the fact that he's chosen to put his faith in science rather than saints doesn't change that. She's the reason he knows how thrilling it is to be confronted with a mystery, even if his response to mysteries is to compile and analyze data rather than to pray. 

Carlos wonders how his grandmother's doing these days. Wonders what she would make of his current predicament, or the fact that he's spoken with beings claiming to be angels. He should probably try to call his family soon, although the fact that he can still reach Night Vale on his phone is no guarantee he'll be able to reach anywhere else.

He's been using the lighthouse as his base of operations, periodically trying to explore the rest of the desert. It's tough to explore much when he keeps coming back to the mountain no matter what direction he goes in, and he has yet to find anything but sand and rocks and occasional scrubby plant life, but a scientist is thorough. He sleeps in the lighthouse, which seems to have been built with the needs of a lighthouse keeper in mind even though there's no sign of anyone having been here before Dana. He explores the abandoned settlement in the gorge and talks with the tall masked warriors whenever any of them pass his way. They're kind and helpful, which Carlos suspects is not entirely for his own sake, given that some of them call him as "friend of Dana" more often than his name. He feels obscurely guilty about the fact that he and Dana actually aren't good friends, that they had never talked before she found him in the desert, and resolves to thank her for winning the warriors' loyalty when ( _when_ , not if, he thinks stubbornly) he gets home.

When he's not working on understanding as much as he can about this strange otherworld, he does a lot of research on interdimensional travel. If he was going to end up in this predicament, he could do a lot worse than to do so while equipped with a smartphone with an improbably robust battery. The time weirdness means that he sometimes wakes up to find a bunch of bookmarked articles he emailed himself days from now, and so far he hasn't found anything that seems applicable to his specific situation, but he figures anything that increases his general knowledge of this sort of thing helps at this point.

On what's either the seventh or tenth night since the doors shut, Carlos stays up late in the makeshift office he's set up in the top room of the lighthouse. He likes to stay up there; taking breaks to look out over the desert makes a nice change from reading until his eyes hurt and making notes on some thick, pulpy sheets of paper he found in the abandoned settlement. He texts Cecil a few times, but there's no reply--maybe he's asleep, or maybe their times aren't lining up right at the moment--so Carlos sighs and goes back to work.

He must fall asleep, because the next thing he knows he's slumped forward in his chair, his cheek sticking to the surface of the card table he's been using for a desk. He sits up, rubbing a hand across his face and looking around, and that's when he notices the lighthouse is...different.

For one thing, it doesn't seem to be strictly a lighthouse anymore. The roof is gone, and the giant light that should be in the middle of the room has been replaced by--a radio antenna? Carlos squints at it in confusion for a moment, then gets up and heads toward the spiral staircase leading to the lower floors, to see what else is different.

As he makes his way downstairs, the basic structure of the lighthouse seems the same, but the surface of the walls changes from unremarkable stone to wallpaper, a paisley pattern in various shades of purple against an ivory background. Carlos stops short. It's exactly the same as the wallpaper in his and Cecil's living room. 

Cautiously, not sure what he's going to find, Carlos reaches out and opens the nearest door. What greets him isn't lighthouse or home, but a recording studio, headset and microphone perched and waiting on a desk in front of a bank of equipment. Carlos is also pretty sure the room is now bigger than the dimensions of the lighthouse should allow. It's like something has taken these three very different places--the lighthouse, Cecil's radio station, and their house, and jammed them together in a surreal, dreamlike arrangement. 

Carlos hears a noise from below and turns, leaning over the railing. And then his heart jumps into his throat, because there's someone lower down on the staircase, looking up, and it's--

"Cecil?" he asks, at the same time as Cecil yells "Carlos!" Cecil starts up the stairs and Carlos rushes down to meet him. As they each round the last bend, Carlos stretches out a hand even as he realizes that they might not be able to touch, that his hand might go right through Cecil and Carlos doesn't know if he can take that right now.

But Cecil reaches out, too, and their hands collide, fingers tangling. Both of them just freeze and stare at their joined hands, as if needing a moment to absorb the fact that this is happening, that they can _touch_. Carlos isn't sure whose paralysis breaks first, which one of them closes the remaining distance between them. He just feels Cecil's cheeks under his hands and Cecil's hands in his hair and Cecil's mouth against his and he doesn't care how, doesn't care what's happening as long as it doesn't _stop_.

They kiss fiercely, hungrily, clutching at each other and making desperate noises into each other's mouths. Carlos finally pulls back, breathing heavily and resting his forehead against Cecil's. He keeps Cecil's face framed in his hands, stroking his cheek with a thumb and still marveling at the fact that he can.

"Am I dreaming?" he asks softly. 

"I was just wondering the same thing," Cecil says, touching Carlos with just as much wonder. "Maybe we both are."

If he wasn't touching the love of his life for the first time in weeks, Carlos would instantly be trying to remember what he's read about astral projection or shared dreaming, to figure out the science behind whatever's happening here. As it is, he makes a mental note to look into it later, but right now nothing seems worth taking his hands off of Cecil for.

Instead he kisses Cecil again, softer this time, but with no less feeling behind it. "God, I've missed being able to touch you," he murmurs when he pulls back.

"I _know_ ," Cecil replies fervently. "I'm so grateful we've been able to talk, at least, but--Carlos, I miss you _so_ much--"

Carlos pulls him close, kissing his hair and the side of his face as Cecil burrows against his shoulder. For several moments, they just hold each other, then Carlos tilts his head to nuzzle gently at Cecil's ear. 

"So, I don't suppose you have any idea how long this is going to last?" he asks.

"No," Cecil says, muffled, and then lifts his head. One corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, and there's a suggestive hint in his voice when he adds, "Probably not long enough for me to touch you as much as I want."

Carlos smiles at him, glad they're thinking along the same lines. "I'm game to see how far we can get if you are." He supposes it's not the most diligently scientific use of whatever time they have in this state, but again, he _hasn't touched his boyfriend in weeks_. He's maybe not in the most empirical mindset right now.

They find their way to the room where Carlos has been sleeping, and at this point Carlos is less than surprised to find their bed inside it, their queen mattress covered with the sheets they picked out together taking up almost all of the small lighthouse bedroom. They tumble onto the bed together, tugging impatiently at each other's clothes. Cecil settles astride Carlos's hips and runs his hands over his arms and chest, which is nice, but a little more clinical than Carlos would like at the moment, like he's checking to make sure Carlos is still all there.

"Cecil," Carlos says when this continues for several moments.

"You look all right," Cecil says, brow furrowed slightly. "Are you taking care of yourself? Are you getting enough sleep?"

" _Cecil_ \--" 

"And, I mean, what's the whole food situation here? Because it doesn't _seem_ like there'd be much to eat in an otherworldly desert with nothing but a mountain and a lighthouse, but then Dana survived there for over a year, so maybe you don't _need_ to eat? I'd just hate to think--"

Carlos leans up and shuts him up with a very thorough kiss. Cecil makes a surprised noise into his mouth and then melts against him, and Carlos takes the opportunity to roll them over.

"I'm fine," he says, and then kisses Cecil again. "I don't get hungry very often, but there's a kitchen in the lighthouse with canned and dry goods when I do." Another kiss. "And I sleep about as well as I can considering the desert's _really bright_ even when it's night time--or, well, when the conditions there most closely align with what we understand to be night--"

It's Cecil's turn to stop him, with a gentle hand on his mouth. "That awful light," he says, looking even more concerned now. "Is it--"

Carlos sighs. He doesn't want to worry Cecil, but he won't lie to him. "It's still on the horizon. But it's not as strong or close as it was before, and it's not moving. Whatever it is, I think the revolution in Night Vale sort of...subdued it, at least for a while." Smiling faintly, he adds, "I don't think it was counting on the amount of trouble you all gave it."

Cecil returns the smile, and Carlos strokes his cheek gently. "I'm really doing okay, Cecil, except for how much I miss you and Night Vale. I mean, being here is probably the most scientifically interesting thing that's ever happened to me, so things could be worse."

Cecil's smile wavers a bit, but he turns his face into Carlos's hand and kisses his palm. "My sweet, intrepid Carlos," he murmurs.

Carlos moves his hips against Cecil's purposefully, feeling the sudden catch of breath that causes against his hand. "Now, if you're done…"

Cecil's only response is a sharp whine in the back of his throat. His legs fall open and Carlos slides between them, fitting himself into a space that's achingly familiar. He reaches to take hold of both Cecil's hands, lacing their fingers together and pressing them into the pillows on either side of his head. Cecil finds his voice again, murmuring in Carlos's ear as they move together in a steady, easy slide. He's not saying much, just Carlos's name over and over with an occasional endearment thrown in-- _dearest Carlos, lovely Carlos_ \--but in that particular tone he has, the one that sounds like every word for love in every known language condensed into a few syllables.

Carlos releases one of Cecil's hands to reach down, working it in between their bodies. He gets his hand wrapped around both their cocks and Cecil's voice breaks on a cry, his back arching, head falling against the pillow. The movement exposes the line of his neck, and what is Carlos supposed to do but lean down and put his mouth all over it? Cecil's free hand comes up to cup the back of his head, fingers running through his hair and tightening when Carlos sucks on a spot at the base of his throat.

It's over way too soon, both of them shaking and moaning and falling apart against each other. Carlos tries to move so he's not crushing Cecil, but Cecil clings to him like an octopus, so he presses his face into the hollow of Cecil's throat and stays where he is, absently reaching out to wipe his hand on the sheets.

"Love you," he breathes against Cecil's neck. "I love you so much, Cecil."

Cecil kisses the top of his head, arms wrapped around his shoulders. "I love you, too."

They lie like that for a few moments before Carlos rolls onto his side. Cecil lets him go this time, but keeps contact, bringing one hand to rest on Carlos's waist and hooking one leg over his knee.

Carlos smoothes Cecil's hair back from his face, studying him like he doesn't have every detail memorized already. He knows how beautiful Cecil thinks he is (along with all of Night Vale knowing it) but he's never thought he was anything to compare to Cecil. He loves everything about him; the softness of his lightly tanned skin, the streaks of pure white running through his dark hair, the way his eyes are purple but only some of the time. Carlos knows every inch of his body, occasionally suspects he might not be entirely human, and loves him more than he thought he could ever love anything except science.

"How are things at home?" he asks after a moment. "Are _you_ taking care of yourself?"

Cecil smiles crookedly. "I'm doing all right," he says. "And even if I wasn't, everyone keeps checking up on me. Dana, Old Woman Josie, John Peters--you know, the farmer? It's so good having them all back where they belong--" 

He breaks off suddenly, and Carlos looks away. It's not Cecil's fault--it's not anyone's fault--but the reminder still stings.

"Carlos, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"It's okay," Carlos assures him quickly. "It's just--I didn't realize how much I thought of Night Vale as home until I couldn't go back there. It was _your_ home, and I wanted to be wherever you were, but that's as far as I'd ever thought it out. And now--"

"It _is_ your home," Cecil says, with a fierce edge to his voice that Carlos knows isn't directed at him. "I don't care if the universe itself thinks otherwise, you belong there."

Carlos raises his head, meeting Cecil's eyes. "If I belong anywhere, it's with you," he says softly. 

Cecil leans in to kiss him, and Carlos slides one hand up into Cecil's hair, rolling onto his back so that Cecil's on top of him. When Cecil breaks the kiss, Carlos makes a slight noise of protest, but Cecil just smiles down at him.

"We're supposed to be seeing how much I can touch you before this is over, remember?" he says, a wicked curl of promise in his smile and his voice. He leans down, trailing kisses down Carlos's neck and along his collarbones. "I think you should let me get on with it. For science."

"O-okay," Carlos agrees, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. He twines one hand loosely in Cecil's hair and curls the other around the back of his neck, not putting any pressure on him, just resting there. "I mean. If it's for science--" His voice breaks off on a moan as Cecil licks one of his nipples.

Cecil makes his way down slowly, mapping out Carlos's body with his hands and mouth. He leaves a trail of kisses from Carlos's chest down to his navel, noses along the line of his hip, nips playfully at the curve of his stomach. By the time Cecil's lying between his spread legs, cupping his balls in one hand and nuzzling his inner thigh, Carlos is a trembling, incoherent mess. He gets out a broken "God, Cecil, _please_ \--" before Cecil's mouth slides down over his cock and he arches his back, crying out.

Cecil pulls off until just the tip of Carlos's cock is in his mouth, then slides his mouth down again. Carlos bucks up involuntarily and gasps an apology, but Cecil just hums and splays both hands across his hips, pinning him down. 

Carlos twists and moans under his hands and mouth, one hand in Cecil's hair and the other twisting in the bedclothes and fuck, Cecil's so fucking _good_ at this. Cecil pulls back again, tracing the shape of Carlos's cock with his tongue, then goes down again, taking Carlos as deep as he can and swallowing around him, and Carlos shouts Cecil's name and throws his head back. He sees stars when he comes, and realizes after a second that those are literal stars, because where there was a ceiling there's now just night sky, with some stars that are familiar and others that aren't.

When he looks down again, Cecil's still lying between his legs, curled up with his head on Carlos's thigh and an extremely self-satisfied expression.

"Come here," Carlos says, his voice rough, and Cecil scoots up the bed and nestles against his chest. Carlos wraps his arms around him and tucks a hand under his chin, tilting his head up, and Cecil gives a delighted little laugh when he sees the stars. 

"I don't want this to end," Cecil says, draping his arm around Carlos's middle. "But it has to, doesn't it?"

Carlos kisses the crown of his head. "Even if was up to us, we can't just stay in a weird dream reality forever."

"...I wouldn't mind staying for a _while_ , though," Cecil says, and Carlos smiles and presses his face into Cecil's hair.

They lie there, soaking up each other's presence while they can. Neither of them sleeps (Carlos isn't sure how that would even work, if they're already dreaming), but they kind of drift for a while, trading slow, gentle touches and kisses while reality narrows to just the bed and their entwining bodies. They talk some more; for all that they've been able to do that all along, it's different, better, being able to do it like this. They make love again after a while, Carlos pressed against Cecil's back with his cock rubbing between Cecil's thighs and against the cleft of his ass, their hands moving together on Cecil's cock.

Carlos doesn't know how much passes (time probably has even less meaning here than anywhere else he's been lately) before Cecil sort of...flickers. For less than a heartbeat, he goes transparent and feels like mist under Carlos's fingers, and then he's back. 

"Oh," he says with a heartbreaking look on his face. 

Carlos takes his face in both hands, kissing him fiercely while he still can. Then _he_ flickers, which feels really unpleasant--kind of like all his internal organs have been replaced with cold water, with a side of momentary doubt about his own existence--and when he's back Cecil clutches at him. 

"Cecil," Carlos says, tucking Cecil's hair behind his ear. "I'll be home soon, okay? I _promise_. I don't care if I have to break every law of time and space, I'm coming home."

"I know," Cecil says. "I know you will. Carlos--"

And then everything dissolves into deep blue sky and strange stars, and Carlos is slumped forward in his chair with his cheek sticking to the surface his makeshift desk. 

He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, as if refusing to admit he's awake is going to help. His neck starts getting really sore, though, and then his phone dings and he lifts his head to look at it. 

_I love you_ , says the text from Cecil. 

Carlos texts him back and then sits up, stretching and rubbing the back of his neck. He gets up and goes down to the kitchen--the lighthouse is all just lighthouse again--and finds the tin of instant coffee he opened a few days ago.

By the time the desert sun starts creeping over the horizon, taking its time about it, Carlos is back at his desk with coffee and a renewed sense of purpose. He's got a promise to keep.


End file.
